4:00 AM Drabbles
by xXGagaGirlXx
Summary: A collection of unrelated drabbles and one-shots. All the result of a long, busy night shift and my inability to sleep after work. Various pairing and themes, strong posibility of fluff.
1. Drabble 1

**A/N; A thousand thank you's to my amazing beta-reader BlueBohemian, make sure to read her stories, she truly is a fantastic writer.**

**Just a little background information on where these drabble's surface from – basically, I work long night shifts over the weekend and I find that when I get in at four A.M, insomnia hits and I'm wide awake, so I take the opportunity to tap away on my laptop and see what Rock You fluff I can produce.**

**Enjoy.**

A small grin twitched on the corner of my lips as I watched her. She was nothing like the others. Her thin, pale arms folded hostilely across her small chest, covering the Rolling Stones motif on the black T-shirt that she wore. I recognized it as one of my own, artfully tied in a knot at the back so that it fit across her thin frame, revealing part of her stomach. It had been torn at the sleeves and hung ever so slightly from one of her shoulders. I knew it hadn't been her handy work at once. After all, she hated her stomach... and her hips.

'_Hate my bum, and my legs, quite like my arms- but not my hands!_'

I continued to watch her, my lips parting into a smile; I loved every part of her. I lifted my drink to my mouth and drained the last few drops, still not taking my gaze from her awkward stance as she stood behind the bar. Her eyes burned into a group of drunken men who had began a clumsy dance of waving their arms over their heads. Standing up myself I walked over to her end of the bar, giving a nod to Meat as I passed her collecting glasses from the now unoccupied tables.

Scaramouche (for that was who I'd been watching) caught my eye and bit the side of her lip, looking back to the group of men and then to me again, rolling her eyes. I laughed and leant over the bar to where she stood, my hands outstretched to hers. Taking hold of them she stepped forwards, her own hands feeling icy cold in my warm palms. I brought them upwards towards my face and kissed them delicately. "It's two A.M. baby, are you going to ask Pop if you can leave now?"

She made an exasperated face at me and grumbled, "Pop passed out in the cellar half an hour ago. Meat went down to change a barrel and found him fast asleep in the corner."

I grinned, "Well, that's great. So you don't have to ask, you can just leave and he'll be none the wiser-" I trailed off as I watched her face drop into an apologetic expression.

"I can't leave Meat on her own babe," she began to chew her lip, "She'll be here for hours trying to get everyone out and clean up if I bugger off now. I'm going to have to stay till we're done." She broke the contact of our hands and leant forwards on tip-toe, wrapping her arms around my neck and drawing her mouth close to my ear.

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as she placed a tender kiss on my neck and murmured, "I'm sorry, Gaz'."

I placed my hands firmly on her hips and gave her a squeeze, "It's fine- though I kind of had plans for us." I shook my head, "Don't worry about it though. Are you okay to come back with Meat?" I pulled backwards and raised an eyebrow, "It's just I'm shattered and if we're not doing anything, I think I'll head back home and catch up on some sleep."

She'd noticed the slight coldness in my tone for she nodded slowly and then added, "I love you, Gazza'," before biting me softly on my bottom lip.

I stroked a hand through her hair and gave her a giddy smile, my stomach turning back flips inside of me, the way it always did when she told me she loved me. "Love you more," I muttered, placing one final kiss on her parted lips. "Be careful coming home, wake me when you get back." I turned towards the door of the Seven Seas of Rhye bar and made my way out into the cold. A soft layer of snow had fallen while I'd been waiting for Scaramouche to finish her shift. I scrunched my nose up at it and hoped that it wouldn't get much thicker before Scaramouche and Meat had to make their way home in it.

* * *

It was almost four thirty A.M. when Meat and I arrived back at the Heartbreak Hotel. I gave a wide yawn as I bid Meat goodnight and then carefully picked my way towards the room that Galileo and I shared. He'd asked me to wake him when I'd got home, but I'd decided to let him sleep. He'd been annoyed when I'd had to work late and the last thing I wanted was to start an argument at this time in the morning. I pushed our door open slowly, stopping to wince as it make a loud creaking noise. Standing still and silent for a moment until I was certain I hadn't woken him, I pushed at it again.

As I stepped into the room, I gasped. A wide grin set fast upon my tired face. "Oh Gazza'!" I cooed, as he sat up in our makeshift bed and mirrored my expression of glee.

I couldn't believe how our usually tatty room now looked. When I had left for work the previous day it had been a dingy, messy, dark room. Our clothes scattered across the floor and our music taking up three quarters of the space. Microphones, amplifiers, scores and of course, my guitar took pride place. But now, I scarcely recognized it. Everything had been tidied. Our clothes had been folded into neat piles in the corner, our musical equipment packed away, the floor completely clear except for our mattress.

The entire room was a glow with the soft light of dozens of small candles. Their flames burned low and flickered in the draft that blew through the cracks in our wall. Sat in the midst of it all was Galileo, a bottle of wine on the floor next to him and two wine glasses clutched in his hand. I felt my heart skip a beat as I tried to take everything in.

"I love you, Scaramouche." Galileo outstretched his free hand towards me.

Stepping forwards I took it, letting him pull me down onto the mattress between his legs, wrapping himself and the blankets around me. I held onto him tightly, my head pressed against his warm bare chest. Breathing into him I kissed at his soft skin hungrily, before looking up and meeting his gaze. I felt his chest tense and watched as he winced at the coldness of my skin, though he didn't let go, only clung to me tighter to warm me up.

As he stroked a hand through my tangled hair, I smiled up at him with a besotted look, watching his cheeks flush pink as our eyes met. "I recognize this T-shirt," he told me with a grin, running his fingers inside the nape of the neck, "Though it doesn't look nearly as good on me." I gave a soft laugh and looked away. Even after a year together I still struggled to accept his compliments. "Meat's handy work?" he pulled at the ripped sleeves so that they fell down further from my shoulders. I nodded in reply and lifted my head to kiss at the underneath of his neck. He gasped, the way he always did when I kissed at his neck and then smiled, pulling me closer to him, gripping me tighter.

"I have something for you." He broke the silence and pulled away from me, reaching under his pillows and clasping his fingers around something. He held his closed fist in front of me and stroked his free hand across my cheek as I tried to catch a glimpse of what he held. "I know you detest the whole marriage thing," he pointed out, "so this isn't a proposal, because I know that's not what you want." He opened his clenched fist and revealed a simple silver ring, three small rubies set into the centre of it. Taking it in his fingers, he took my left hand and placed it on my fourth finger. "I knew it would fit you," he laughed, "You have such tiny fingers."

I beamed down at it, wiggling my fingers happily and watching as the light of the candles shimmered from the jewels. "Gaz' it's beautiful!" I exclaimed, flinging my arms around his neck and clinging tightly to him. "It's fantastic, but you didn't need to get it for me..." I suddenly felt a purge of guilt, wondering if I'd perhaps forgotten a significant date.

"Of course I did." He laced his fingers between mine, "It might not be a proposal Scaramouche but I want to spend the rest of my life with you, I love you _so_ much." He looked down earnestly at me, "I just want you to have something to be able to look at and know that even when I'm away, or even when we argue, I still love you every bit as much as I do this very minute, if not more!" he blushed furiously and tried to hide his face over my shoulder.

I pulled back so that I could see him again. "I love you, Galileo Figaro." It was the first time I hadn't chosen to say it in a whisper, or mumble, or shorten his name. God it was worth it, just to see his huge smile and his eyes light up. "I wish I had something that I could give to you..." I bit the inside of my cheek.

"How about returning that T-shirt?" he lowered his voice and pulled me on top of him, not waiting for me to reply. I didn't need to, he already knew my answer. His hand fumbling at the back as he unknotted it, he pulled it swiftly over my head and threw it to one side of the mattress, pressing his skin against mine we embraced, kissing frantically at each other, biting eagerly at each others lips. As he pulled the covers up and over us both, I paused for a second to repeat once again.

"I love you, Galileo Figaro."

"Love you more." It was the only time I ever let him have the last word.


	2. Drabble 2, Part A

**A/N; Just wanted to point out that all of my drabbles in this series will be completely unrelated, they are simply spawned from my insomnia driven mind so could really end up being about anything We Will Rock You related, some will no doubt be much worse than others, you have been warned ****:D**

**I wrote this quite a while ago and never actually managed to finish it, I was going to post it as a single one-shot but I've decided to split this one into two parts as I'm eager to know what everyone thinks of it so far. (Come on, feed my ego!) It's really the result of my own teenage angst and then an extremely bad night shift.**

**Sorry for this being such a long authors note, just a few more things and then you can read away! Apologies for not actually updating either of my fictions in so long, however the summer is upon us (though, like the virtual world there seemingly are no seasons in England) and I have a good month or so left of doing nothing, so look out for more updates.**

**Thank-you for being patient and thank-you for all the positive reviews so far and lastly We Will Rock You, unfortunately is not my creation.**

Enjoy!

Do you ever wake up, look in the mirror and wish that you looked a different way? Perhaps you think, 'I'd like different hair,' or, 'If only I were thinner...' and then you make vague promises to yourself that you'll make changes. You'll style your hair differently, get it cut, dye it a different colour. When they ask you at the fast food diner, "Would you like to make that super-size?" you vow that you'll say no, that you'll opt for a diet coke and then perhaps even get off the tube a stop earlier and walk the rest of the way.

Of course, promises to oneself are usually broken. You learn to live with the way you look or even to appreciate that those mad spiral curls protruding from your scalp are what some girls would kill for. Or that the upturn at the end of your nose is what other people can only resort to surgery to achieve. Because, for all the bad days that you have, where you stare in the mirror and think, 'Holy hell, I'm ugly.' you also have your fair shares of looking in the mirror before you go out, after primping and preening and think, 'I don't look so bad...'

Not me though. Every day it's the same horrid thoughts, hammering at me, even when I can't catch a glimpse of my reflection. But then, I'm different. I always have been.

All the other girls at Virtual High look as if they just stepped straight out of a commercial for the Stepford life. Huge flashes of white teeth between their wide grins, perfectly tamed hair with their sunny delight highlights. Daz-white and freshly pressed uniforms, revealing their tiny waists and bronzed legs. I could go on for a while; after all, I've been staring at them for almost all of my life. Just wishing that at least one part of my body resembled their perfectly formed ones.

Short stumpy legs and pale skin, my bones poking out in odd places. I seem to be missing the gene that made all those girls a natural at styling their hair and applying their makeup, because I'll be damned if I can do anything to myself, without making my hair and face look a thousand times worse than it did before. It seems, the more I persist, the worse I look. So I've stuck to the same thing every day for a while now. Much to my parents and teachers displeasure. And much to the amusement of the other students.

I don't know why I chose to have purple hair. Not that it's what you'd call a 'proper' purple. It's sort of a... magenta. A deep, reddish- oh I'm not even going to try and explain. The only thing I know is it's the farthest colour away from what everyone else has. I just wanted to be different, without making myself look completely foolish. I wasn't prepared to go as far as dying my hair green to be different from them all. Of course, when my mother saw it she screamed. At first I wasn't sure what she was most distressed about. The state of my hair, or the fact that those packets of dye are rather tricky, so I'd managed to splash it around the bathroom quite a bit. It turned out the screaming was about the bathroom, for when she had a real good look at my hair, she burst into floods of tears.

"Oh what have you done? You _stupid_ girl. Your beautiful hair... _ruined_!"

Where on earth she had got the beautiful part from, I don't know. Mousey brown is hardly what I'd describe as a beautiful colour.

If her reaction had been anything to go by, I should have already guessed the taunts that I would receive back at school. I'm sharp witted and if I'm only good with one thing, it's words. But what can you possibly say when you have five index fingers pointing in your direction and the cackles of five girls falling from their spiteful mouths? You don't half feel small and stupid when that happens, I'll tell you!

"It looks like you had a fight with a bottle of hair dye!"  
"Yeah, and lost!"  
"Maroon? That's so last millennium..."

"If you keep using that sunbed, people will start to think _you_ were born last millennium-" I spat back at a particularly orange skinned girl, watching their perplexed faces as they tried to understand my insult.

I heard a low chuckle from behind me and turned around, but the figure had already passed the group. Catching sight of the back of a raven haired boy I smiled. At least someone here appreciated my humor.

"I've f-f-found it's easier just to insult them w-with four letter words." a stammering voice followed by another small chuckle, yet he still didn't turn around to face me, just continued to walk with his head bowed down. "It's p-pretty m-m-much all their brains can process."

It was my turn to laugh now, I wanted to shout something back that would make him turn around but it seemed my brain had crashed.

The Gagas had beaten me to it. "Hey G-g-g-Gordon!" they jeered, mocking his speech, "What are the voices saying today?"

Now was my chance to get away from them, while their attention was on someone else. We'd always been told at school that a bully wasn't just the person doing the taunting; it was whoever stood by and let it happen as well. So call me a bully. There was no chance I was hanging around waiting for them to come prowling my way again. Turning on my heel I scampered off, a little hopeful that the boy could stand his ground.

When I arrived home that day, it was to find my mother waiting for me. Her foot tapping an impatient beat on the floor as she stood, arms folded in the doorway, a firm scowl set into face. I immediately rolled my eyes when I saw her, barging past her and hurling my rucksack onto the floor I made to get upstairs as quickly as possible, tripping over my untied laces as I went.

"Get back here young lady." she barely even raised her voice, but the tone of it was enough to make me scowl and stamp my feet just that little bit harder as I climbed the stairs. "Downstairs. _Now_." her last word was almost a growl. Throwing my hands in the air, I turned around and stomped back down to where she stood.

"Yeah? What?!" I bit down onto the left side of my bottom lip and glared at her.

"The school called me at work today."

"Oh?" I blew my hair from my face in an offhand way, in my efforts to show just how little I cared.

"You won't be going in to your lessons tomorrow morning."

"Oh?" I couldn't help but sound a little intrigued this time. She was keeping me out of school? This was the best punishment I'd ever been given.

"Oh," she mimicked, "Let me put you straight now lady. You won't be going into lessons, because the school has called the two of us in to have a meeting with them. They want to discuss your behavior." she unfolded her arms and placed them firmly on her hips.

I screwed up my face and replied, "Blah-blah-bleeuggh!" moving my left hand childishly as if it were a mouth.

She surveyed me and arched an eyebrow. "I'd imagine, _that _is exactly why. Now you are to go and find something to wear and bring it down to me for ironing. Something smart that won't make your hair stand out so much. They were _not_ pleased about that little trick of yours."

I shrugged my shoulders lazily and marched away from her, stamping an imaginary beat on the stairs. 'Thud-thud-stamp, thud-thud-stamp.' it repeated over and over in my head as I walked towards my room. I struggled to open the door, a pile of screwed up laundry blocking the entrance. Shoving my weight against it, it swung open, my clothes scattering across my bedroom floor. I gazed across the mess. For one day, I would be allowed to wear something other than that god awful school uniform. I was going to take full advantage of it.

Pulling my draws entirely out, I threw handfuls of clothes across my room until I finally found what I'd been looking for, the few items of black clothing that I owned. The only reason they had been downloaded in the first place had been because of a funeral. And as far as my mother was concerned, they had been thrown out a long time ago. A long sleeved black top and an ankle length skirt. I smirked as I removed them from the draw.

The slam of a door made me turn around quickly, only to see that my mother had barged her way into my room. She eyed the clothes that I held in my hands and blinked slowly, looking for some recognition of what they were and where they had come from. I held them up for her and gave a sly grin, waiting for her to react. Watching me she reached across slowly and took them from me, her gaze not leaving mine. She turned slowly on her heel and left my room. I'd expected her to shout at least. Scream that I shouldn't even still own those items of clothing. Insist that I pick out something else.

I followed her from my room into hers and watched her closely. She moved swiftly, the top and the skirt hung limply over her arm as she made her way towards her dressing table. She opened a draw and pushed a shaking hand into it, drawing out a pair of scissors. For one mad moment, I thought she was going to run at me with them. Thinking back on it now, it had probably been the reflection of the metal blades glinting in her eyes. But at the time, I was sure it was a flash of evil coming across her as she planned my death.

Taking the scissors she began to snip at my clothes, her face expressionless as they fell in pieces from her hands. I stood open mouthed watching her, my heart still thudding in my chest; a minute ago I had considered her capable of murder, now I had just come to the conclusion that she was a few pieces short of the full puzzle.

"Now you'll go and find something suitable to wear for tomorrow, or I'll pick something out for you myself." she looked up at me coolly and walked towards me, brushing past my shoulder as she left the room and made her way downstairs, a smug smile beginning to creep across the corners of her mouth. It was when I saw that smirk that I wanted to storm after her. Spin her around and tell her how sick I was of following her stupid Gaga rules and regime. Instead I picked up the torn clothes from the floor and took them towards my room. I had an idea that seemed much more satisfying and amusing than screaming at her.


	3. Drabble 2, Part B

**A/N; Okay, so I finished early tonight and have basically typed this all up in the space of an hour or so. I'm really not happy with it, it has so much more angst than I had first planned and is just generally… awful. I had a new idea for a drabble tonight though and wanted to get the ending of this one out of the way before I started it, I may revisit it sooner or later and change it so it's a little more light and less cliché. Personally, I blame the wonderful ego-boosters- I mean, reviewers! Let me know what you think anyway, I just feel like I've characterized Scara' in a completely different way than I did in the first half.**

**Once again, I do not own We Will Rock You.**

I gave a load groan as the sound of my mothers voice echoed along the hallway into my bedroom. "If you aren't up and dressed in half an hour's time, I'm going without you, and then who'll fight your corner when they try to stop you graduating? Because I'm not going to, I think they'd have every right!"

Why she insisted on speaking to me while I was half asleep I didn't know. I replied with a loud, "Shut up, people are trying to sleep in here!" and turned over onto my side, my hair falling across my face as my eyelids closed once again. Ah, bliss- that point where you're half between being asleep and awake and everything's all a bit blurry, I could have happily stayed in that state all day if it weren't for the mega bitch's persistent shouting from downstairs.

After ten more minutes of drifting in and out of a light sleep I pushed the covers back and sat up, my head spinning as the blood rushed to it a little too quickly. Bringing my hands up to my eyes I rubbed them and scanned the scattered clothing on my floor, a smile creeping across my face as I spotted my outfit for today.

I arrived downstairs with only minutes to spare, the black top that my mother had shredded hanging from my shoulder and torn across the chest, artfully stitched with some red thread that I had found in a small effort to prevent it from being too obscene. The long skirt now edged above my knee, a long slit climbing up my thigh and to finish it off I had chosen the oldest pair of combat boots that I owned. My mother had even gone as far as throwing them out on numerous occasions, but I'd always fished them out of the bin.

As she punched the numbers furiously into our house alarm she looked up and spotted me. A wry grin on my face I twirled one of my many magenta pony tails around my finger in a girly way and curtsied. "Ready and waiting Mother dear." I began to hum a Gaga song as I waited, knowing that the deadpan tone of it would get up her nose.

She scowled back at me and pursed her lips together tightly. "You just refuse to help yourself, don't you Sally?" it came out as a forced whisper.

I ceased my humming and blinked slowly at her for a moment, before retorting with a loud belt of song- "Just gimme, gimme FRIED CHICKEN!" for some reason just the fact that she was now looking at me as if I was dangerously insane made me feel silently smug.

* * *

"You would of course only be leaving with fifty A-levels, as opposed to the two-hundred and fifty that everyone else has achieved, but you will be leaving none the less."

We'd been sat around a table with my Principal for almost twenty minutes now, though it felt as if we'd been sat there for hours. Just like a half downloaded music track our conversation seemed to reach a certain point before returning to the very beginning again.

"She needs discipline; she needs to learn from her mistakes. Can you not make her return for another year to retake the A-levels that she failed?" my mother had now asked this question for the third time.

The Principal gave an awkward glance at me, once again taking in my appearance and wincing as her eyes traveled from my torn top up, to my smudged black make-up, right up to my coloured hair. "You see, the thing is…" she gave a nervous titter, "We don't want her here. Surely you can see that she doesn't fit in? She's so different from the other girls-"

"I should fucking hope so," I interjected, quickly tiring of being spoken about as if I weren't in the room. I immediately felt two pairs of eyes narrowing in my direction.

"This is what I mean!" the Principal pointed out, "She thinks nothing of throwing around such words, before we know it she'll be spouting all sorts of prescribed words without permission, we can't have her plaguing our students."

My mother gave a curious raise of her eyebrow. "What kind of words are we talking about here Principal?"

I snorted and stood up from the table, "I'd give you a few four letter samples right now, but I'm leaving." To my great surprise neither of them stood up to stop me. I'd been expecting at least one of them to grab my arm and pull me back down, alas neither had done it, so now I stood feeling rather silly having no choice but to start walking from the room. My heavy combat boots made a hollow thud against the floor as I walked, breaking the silence that had now filled the room. Opening the door slowly I edged out of it, watching the two of them carefully as if they might have suddenly produced full scale laser guns.

"I think I have a solution for you. That is if you'd like Sally taken off your hands." I listened eagerly as the Principal spoke, there were clearly unaware that I'd yet to close the door fully.

"I just can't stand to be around her anymore," my mother sighed, "I worry that the more time I spend with her, the more I'm beginning to hate my own daughter."

I opened the door fully and shot a glare at her, "_Bitch_," I spoke calmly but my hands began to clam up as I grasped the door handle, pulling it towards me with a swift tug it slammed shut, shaking in the door frame. Well if she wanted me gone then she could have her wish. Letting my backpack fall from my shoulders I unzipped it and pulled out a black jumper, another item of clothing that she wasn't aware that I owned. Tying it around my waist I glanced upon the other items, I certainly hadn't packed for running away. A can of Sprite and a crushed packet of crisps that had been there a good few days now, I gave a dejected sigh and zipped it back up, dragging it along the floor as I continued to walk. In the distance I heard a male voice, it's mysterious but contagious tune ringing through the corridors of the school. Just as I began to pick up the words it stopped suddenly and without warning. Bursting through the double doors of the school entrance, curious to see what had happened to the voice, I was surprised to be faced with an empty courtyard, the silence eerie and uncomfortable I hurled my backpack onto the stone steps and smiled as it made a thump.

"Of course," I thought to myself, "Everyone will have left now, no wonder it's so quiet!"

Feeling the need to break the silence barrier again I began to repeat the tune that I'd heard only minutes before, quietly at first but as the satisfaction of making such noise built, so did my volume.

"I want to break free from your lies you're so… self satisfied I don't need you, I've got to break free. God knows, god knows I want to break free."

My stomach flipped as I spotted them. They'd heard me, those stupid Gaga girls.

_Shit_.


	4. Drabble 3

**A/N: Three updates in one week, do you think perhaps I'm avoiding a certain other story of mine? XD Lots of thanks to CrayolaxSmiles who helped me out with the drabble and checked it through for me. I advise you all to read her fics, she's an amazingly talented writer and a sweetheart on top of it :)  
Would love to read some reviews on it and especially receive some feedback on my writing as I feel like it's lacking something these days.  
Much love;**

Scaramouche gave a hard swallow as her dry throat refused to co-operate with her

Scaramouche gave a hard swallow as her dry throat refused to co-operate with her. The trusted mighty axe hung on its strap securely over her shoulder, and she knew it couldn't help her, not really. Somehow though, she still found herself grasping it tightly in the hopes that it might bring her some luck. She took a deep breath as she stepped forward into the spotlight adjacent to Galileo who beamed across at her encouragingly.

"Too late, my time has come. Sent shivers down my spine, my body's aching all the time." Her throat gave a painful twinge as she pushed her voice a little more, her gaze transfixed on her microphone stand. "Goodbye everybody, I've got to go-" And right then was when disaster struck. Well, it was disaster according to Scaramouche, anyway. Her voice gave an almighty crack, taking her by shock and making her step backwards.

Galileo gave her a supportive nod but she was frozen to the spot; opening her mouth she tried to regain herself, "G-gotta leave it all-" she stopped again realizing that she was now out of time. Screwing her face up in annoyance, she kicked at the drum set on stage and stormed off, leaving Galileo to pick up the vocals.

"Mamma, oooh-" Galileo's voice sounded uncertain as his eyes followed Scaramouche off stage. Resisting the internal battle to follow her he turned back round to face the crowd. After all, the only thing that mattered was giving the audience a good show… right?

As Scaramouche stamped her way through the wings she passed Pop who shook his head slowly at her. "I'm not a bloody singer Pop, I'm a guitarist!" as he raised an eyebrow at her, she added, "I bet they never made Hendrix sing!"

Pop made to tell her otherwise but she'd already pushed past him and could be heard huffing and puffing her way down the corridor. Shrugging, Pop took his hip flask from his pocket and took a brief swig from it, before edging closer to the stage, ready for his own cue to clear down the equipment.

"More!" the audience roared excitedly, a sea of ignited lighters and waving hands. It was difficult to deny them what they were chanting so avidly for. The band made to strike up one last song and, taking a brief glance off stage to see that Scaramouche most certainly wasn't waiting there for him, Galileo reluctantly stepped forward to his microphone and resumed singing.

Twenty minutes later, an adrenaline-high band clattered down the corridor of the venue they had just played at. Offering high-fives and talking loudly and animatedly, each was congratulating the others on a job well done. As they all smugly remarked about how fantastically they had played, they found it disconcertingly easy to forget that they were missing one band member.

"Gazza baby, what're you drinking?" they had now entered the bustling bar, the numerous exhausted band members, techies and venue staff filled the small space, their body heat making the room stuffy and almost unbearable. The stale smell of sweat and smoke seeped through the crowds, clinging to the noses of all who entered. Galileo wrinkled his own nose and coughed as a particularly large man exhaled a long stream of cigar smoke across from him.

"Uhm…" Galileo shifted his weight from one foot to the other, feeling awkward and uncomfortable, "I'm just going to go and grab something from the dressing room." He called across the heads of the people who had now pushed in front of him.

Using his elbows he pushed his way out into the now bustling corridor, feeling hands clap him over his back as people exclaimed, "There he is!" Emitting a nervous laugh, he smiled weakly at them and quickened his pace; Truth be told, he'd never been great in busy spaces, especially without a certain someone's hand to hold.

As he pushed the door open to the dressing room he inhaled sharply, his head finally feeling clear now that he was alone. Raising his pale hands to his face he rubbed at his eyes and blinked a few times. Just as he thought he'd caught his breath, it escaped him yet again, as he found himself jumping slightly with the realization that there was someone else in the room.

It was Scaramouche. A curled up ball on the floor her legs crossed beneath her and her elbows propped on her knees, a veil of purple hair covering her face. He knelt down to her level and lifted her face with her chin. As they both looked up, Galileo let out a gasp, noticing, for the first time upon entering, the state of the room. Well, the state of the war zone was a better description, really.

It seemed that nothing in the dressing room had been left unturned. Cushions had been torn, leaving a trail of feathers across the floor as if a coop of chickens had been sacrificed and the walls bore the dirty footprints of a rather small pair of combat boots. Even the presumably antique television hadn't been untouched, as it was now suffering the consequences of having a chair thrown with force at its screen. The only things that seemed to have survived the human hurricane had been the almighty Axe and little Miss Scaramouche herself.

Galileo stared open mouthed across at her, "Scaramouche this is…"

"Stupid, I know." She interjected, rolling her eyes.

"I've never seen anything so…" He closed his mouth, shook his head and then opened it again.

"Pathetic, I _know_." She shot him a fierce glare.

"Rock and **roll**!" his eyes bulged as he grinned wildly back at her.

She looked at him strangely for a second, processing his words. After a moment's thought, she beamed back at him briefly before throwing herself into his arms, clinging tightly around his neck. She clutched him onto him, presumably using all the force in her small body, swinging her legs around his waist. "You don't even know what 'Rock and Roll' is, do you Gazza Fizza?" she giggled into his ear. It was then that he could smell the stench of whiskey on her breath.

"I believe it's something along the lines of storming off stage, getting drunk on your own with a bottle of whiskey and trashing the dressing room for no apparent reason." he chuckled and kissed at the end of her nose. "Did anyone ever tell you that you're absolutely crazy?"

She gave a lopsided smile and crossed her eyes, "I believe so." She gave him a playful bite on his cheek. "You should try it sometime- it's quite fun."

"But what could be more 'Rock and Roll' than this?" he questioned, teasingly snapping his teeth at her and making her emit a screech.

"Well there is just one other thing." she narrowed her eyes, pushing him down forcefully so that he lay on his back.

"Scaramouche!" Galileo gave a nervous laugh as he ran a hand across her thigh, "Everyone will be back soon, and we'll be caught."

Scaramouche gave a sly grin as she undid the buttons of Galileo's shirt. "That's 'Rock and Roll' baby."


	5. Drabble 4, Part A

**A/N: I actually really like this drabble. That is, at this very second. Tomorrow I shall probably read it and wonder what I was thinking in my insomniac state of mind. This was inspired by the Scott Alan song 'It's Good to See You', which I'm insanely in love with at the moment. When I listened to it, the first thing I pictured was Galileo and Scaramouche, alas this is the outcome. I was too hasty to have it beta'd and also I am without Microsoft Word at the moment, so the spelling could well be borderline embarrasing. But before I ramble on any longer, here it is. Comments as always are very much appreciated, I love to hear everyone's feedback. The song 'Good to See You' does not belong to me, neither do the characters I'm afraid.**

"Your hair's gotten longer." I broke the silence with my pointless observation. As if to confirm it she drew her thumb and forefinger slowly down one of her magenta ponytails and shrugged. Her gaze flickered up to mine for a mere second before she returned it to the smeared chrome tabletop between us.

It had been almost two years since we'd last spoken, yet she still seemed stubbornly determined that she had nothing left to say to me. It had been only by chance today that we had been in the diner at the same time and while she hadn't protested to me taking a seat at her chosen table, she hadn't been exactly welcoming either.

Every question I had asked or comment that I had made so far had been answered with a shrug or a shake of her head. I was surprised that she was yet to comment on my now bleach blonde crop of hair, knowing that she must have noticed it, but also knowing that once Scaramouche set her mind to something, she would go through with it. In this instance the thing she had set her mind to was paying as little attention to me as possible.

I wondered if she even cared anymore. I stared hungrily at her face, longing for her eyes to meet mine again, just to feel the surge of butterflies I always had whenever our gazes locked. I heaved a soft sigh as she stared pointedly at a round coffee stain on the table, refusing even to lift her head up now.

She'd gotten so thin. Her once teenage features had now been replaced by striking cheekbones and pursed lips, she was beautiful as ever, but now she was a young woman and not the teenager that had visited me in my dreams every week since she'd left. Her brightly coloured hair seemed to be the only thing that even resembled the Scaramouche of two years ago, that and her deathly pale skin. I felt a guilty twinge in my gut, she looked so weak and run down, perhaps if I'd have forced her to stay those years ago, she wouldn't have been this way now.

She extended her hand into the pocket of her skinny jeans, I noticed as she moved it past me that she was still a nail-biter. Her chipped burgundy nail polish looked like flecks of blood across her gnawed nails and fingertips. Withdrawing a packet of cigarettes, I watched in stunned silence as she ignited one and began to inhale the poison into her fragile body.

"But your voice-" I finally protested, unable to watch it any longer, "Don't you realize what those things do your voice?"

She raised an eyebrow and spitefully exhaled the smoke directly into my face. Though my chest contracted painfully, I refused to open my mouth to let a cough escape, knowing the fact that she had affected me would only please her.

"I haven't sang for two years." She told me sedately, the first full sentence that she had uttered since I'd ran into her. "I'm a guitarist. All I need is my hands."

It was my turn to shrug and murmur, though it wasn't because I didn't have a reply. I wanted to ask her why she didn't sing anymore, such a beautiful voice and yet she'd ceased to use it the minute she'd left the Heartbreak. I bit the side of my cheek in confusion and felt my stomach tense under the weight of all the questions I wanted to ask her, but just couldn't get to leave my mouth.

She must have noticed my pained expression, for she finally spoke again. "I've been touring with a band. Their music's a little heavier than ours was but I still enjoy it-" she paused to correct herself, "enjoyed it."

I still didn't speak, simply stared back longingly at her, waiting for her to speak again.

She shifted her weight awkwardly in her chair and wrapped a piece of her hair around her finger nervously. "I uhm... I got a call while we were in Germany. My Dad passed away a few weeks ago..." she swallowed and tugged harder on the lock of hair that she held. "I only just got back yesterday, it took them a week to contact me."

I moved my hand across the table to stroke hers but just as I did so she retracted hers and stubbed her cigarette out firmly in the tin foil tray to her right. I slid my own hand back down into my lap dejectedly.

"I'm sorry." I told her earnestly. She'd always been close with her father, even after we'd been at the Heartbreak for sometime she still spoke about him. I'd encourage her to go and visit him every now and then but she'd say it was too late for that. I knew she'd be feeling guilty for not seeing him before he'd died.

"I know." she replied softly, looking up at me. I felt my eyes burn as they stared back into the two blacks pits that were her pupils. They seemed so cold and empty, their sparkle had disappeared.

"When's the funeral?" I asked tenderly, trying desperately not to break eye contact with her.

"Tomorrow." she looked away, turning her entire body now so that it wasn't facing me. I knew she was crying, it was evident that her damn pride still remained.

We sat in silence again. There seemed nothing else that I could say to her that would pick her up from the depressive state that we were both now in. Part of me wished that she hadn't spoken, I'd have given anything for her still just to be shrugging and mumbling but now there was nothing. Just a heap of skin and bones sat slumped on a chair, completely mute.

"I have to go." she stood up so promptly that it made me jump. Her chair made a loud scraping noise across the floor and her cheeks flushed as people turned to look. Letting her hair fall over her face she hastily picked up her bag. That same bloody rucksack. It had been patched up so many times that I was sure none of the original canvas material still remained.

I nodded and stood up, leaning in to kiss her cold cheek. She stood firmly on the spot, so rigid that I wondered if she even felt my lips brush across her.

"It's good to see you again, Scaramouche."

She nodded and walked off, not even turning back to look at me. I watched her go and felt my heart drop, I still needed her now just as much as I had the first day we'd met.


	6. Drabble 4, Part B

**A/N: Oh gosh, I start a collection of one-shots and they all turn out to be chaptered. Why do I do this? There's still one more part to come after this and then I must stop, otherwise it'll turn into a novel and I'll never finish it. This materialised in Tottenham Court Road station. As I waited for my tube and peered over the platform a small family of rats/mice scuttled across the tracks and the image of rain-sodden Scaramouche appeared in the small space between my ears. (That could have come from the fact that I myself was dripping wet with that days downpour). So on the train home I began to handwrite this, extra sure to add in a hairy rodent ****J**** One more section to come and then we'll move along swiftly. Promise!**

It was an accurate description to say that today I looked like a ten year old. My black, knee length tea dress with its crocheted three quarter length sleeves and neckline that refused to show any of my small chest bore the creases and dirty marks of a long day. My once shining buckled Mary Jane shoes were now scuffed and covered in the mud that I had ran through upon leaving the church. I had started off the morning with poker straight hair, my mother had assisted me with the irons and insisted that I hadn't put any of 'those ridiculous bunches' over the crown of my head. The light mist of rain outside had made my sleek hair clump together, the ends curling under and my fringe that I had refused to let my mother near with her scissors now heavily hanging in front of my eyes, dripping with rain water. I had chosen not to wear makeup today, I was sure that it would have only smudged through my tears. But even after two years of being out of the Heartbreak, my skin still refused to show any hint of colour, so my mother had attacked me with a large brush and a pot of cherry coloured blusher, though I wasn't entirely sure how much of that still remained and how much of the redness on my cheeks was down to the cold winds that had attacked my face as I had ran here.

As I sat on the edge of the platform, I dangled my legs over onto the track and swung them, the heels of my shoes hitting the wall of the track with a rhythmic thud. 'Thud, _thud_.' the second thud always louder than the first. 'Thud, _thud_.' One of my black knee socks slid down my calf as I swung my legs, but I didn't bother to pull it back up again. I gave a shudder; I'd forgotten how cold it was down here.

A grey rat scampered across the disused tracks, its small claws echoing an eerie scratch across the metal work. It stopped just below me and looked up, its eyes flashing at me through the dim light. "Oh hullo." I peered back down at it. "I suppose you're too young to remember me." the rat continued to stare up at me, dipping its head slightly and raising a paw to its ear it began to clean itself. "I don't have any food if that's what you're after... You should try Pop's room; you could feed your entire family with the scraps on his floor."

"Scaramouche?" an inquisitive voice made me turn away from the tracks. "It is you. What are you doing here?"

Galileo Figaro stood a few feet away, his torso bare and his hair dripping wet. A pair of baggy faded jeans had been tied up around his waist with a red shoe lace. He leant casually on the faded 'Northern Line' sign behind him and pushed his sopping hair from his face. It appeared he'd just stepped out of the shower.

I shrugged and swung my legs back onto the platform. With his new bleach blonde hair, Galileo looked almost like one of the boys from the Boy zone, if it weren't for the fact that he was just as pale as I was, his muscular stomach could have passed the clone test. I let my eyes fall from the top of his spiked hair to the bottom of his bare feet; it was a strange feeling not to find him attractive anymore.

Standing up I walked slowly towards him, my head tilted downwards and my red raw fingers at my mouth as usual. He wrapped his arms around me in an embrace, but it felt awkward, not as it had once felt. Our bodies no longer seemed to fit together like jigsaw pieces; it seemed that my body now stuck out at odd angles making it painful for him to hold me tightly.

"I think you got shorter." I told him, it was a funny feeling to now be at eye level with someone who had once teased me for being small.

"Don't be silly," he told me, kissing at my cold cheek and looking disheartened that I held my head rigid as he did so. "You've gotten taller."

A silence fell between us; I stepped away, leaning down to pull my socks back up above my knees. "May I stay the night?" I asked cautiously, standing back up slowly. "I'm scared to sleep alone tonight."

"W-well-" he stuttered briefly, making me pull my head up quickly, fooled into believing for a second that the old Galileo would be stood in front of me. I was wrong; the blonde haired man was still there. "We have a gig tonight, it's our first decent one in a while... well, since you left really."

"Oh." my heart thudded against my chest; I wasn't entirely sure what to do. "It's okay. I'll just go." I told him, turning on my heel and feeling my eyes burn hot with tears. I didn't know why, but part of me had expected him to leap at the chance of having me back for a night. I smited myself for being so arrogant, of course he had moved on, just as I had done.

I was a mere three steps away before he stopped me. "Stay." he reached a hand out and brushed my shoulder. Hesitating he added, "It's fine, I'll tell the others to do the gig without me."

It would have been the right thing for me to insist that he go. To point out that while Meat could sing, they would only be guaranteed a second booking if Galileo were there himself. But the selfish part of me smiled smugly inside; once again he was putting his life on hold for me.

"I love you." I told him, not entirely sure myself how sincere I was being. I wrapped my arms around his neck and nuzzled into his ear. He didn't smell the way that he used to. He'd been using the universal cheap cologne that all men seemed to wear these days and it didn't seem right connecting that aroma with him, he was supposed to be different.

A sly smile tugged on the corner of his mouth as he ran a hand through my hair and wound the end curl around his finger, but the minute he saw that I'd noticed he bit at his bottom lip to hide it. It wasn't working so he turned his head away from me. "How did you cope today?"

I shook my head numbly, "Terribly. I barely made it to the end of the service. It's a surreal thing... watching your Dad being buried."

He nodded but he didn't understand. He'd always hated his parents, especially his father. It wouldn't have surprised me if he'd opted to bury his father alive given half the chance.

"You go on ahead to my room, I'll let the others know I can't make tonight." he patted a hand across my bum.

"Can't I come and see them?" I asked eagerly. Upon leaving Galileo, I'd also left behind my best friends.

"I think it'd be better if they didn't know you were here." he averted his gaze to the floor and turned to leave through the exit next to him.

'Oh.' I didn't voice my 'oh' out loud, but right now that was the only word that would come into my head. I kicked at the wall that Galileo had just been leaning on and frowned. Why was I suddenly the bad guy?

Picking my way slowly up the staircase at the end of the platform I pondered on why I'd even come here tonight. If it were merely a matter of not wanting to be alone, I could have stayed with my mother. But something had nagged away in the back of my head since bumping into Galileo the other day. Maybe I wanted to confirm the fact that I'd made the right choice in leaving… or perhaps I just wanted to gain back the feeling of being in the arms of someone who loved me. I hummed as climbed the stairs. It was almost pitch black but I remembered my way well.

"Hmm-hm, hmm-hm, rock you." My feet stamped out the beat as I now walked the last stretch towards Galileo's room. 'Thud-thud, _thud_. Thud-thud, _thud_.'

As I pushed the curtain that hung across Galileo's doorway aside, I caught a glimpse of someone in the shadows behind me. Turning around and recognising the face I smiled, "Oh hey-".


	7. Drabble 4, Part C

**A/N: I love that through procrastination, we suddenly gain the capability to do all those things that we have been putting off for a while, just in order to avoid a certain task. In my case, I'm avoiding an essay due for college, in my avoidance I have managed to finish this one-shot, write a****nother chapter for Just Two Fools, which I haven't been able to do for literally months! And I've been generally more organised. The only thing is, I am still yet to complete my essay. Ah well XD  
Let me know what you think to the ending of this one guys, I think I may have lost focus towards the last couple of hundred words or so.  
Thanks as always to all the wonderful reviewers.  
Much love Xx**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own We Will Rock You, or the characters, nor do I own (though by golly I wish I did) the song It's Good To See You Again, by Scott Alan.**

They'd shouted. Of course they had. What more had I expected? Our first real gig in two years and I'd dropped out. What was I thinking? They'd asked me the exact same question and I'd just stood there, my head dropped low, my palm brushing across the back of my neck nervously. I'd lied at first, told them that I wasn't feeling too great, that I'd spent the past twenty minutes with my head bent over the toilet bowl.

"S'just nerves dude," they reassured me, "Bit of stage fright never hurt anyone, if anything you'll get out there and it'll make you rock harder."

I'd shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, desperately trying to think of another reason to get out of it. "My chest is so tight, I can't sing… my throat is in agony-", I reeled off my ailments, one excuse at a time. It wasn't until Meat had walked in, interrupting me with a simple sentence that seemed to break every person in the room.

"Just tell them Galileo, you're dropping out because Scaramouche is waiting in your bedroom for you." Her eyes caught mine, filled with disappointment and sadness. I knew she didn't understand how hard it was for me.

The others had stared at me in disbelief. "That's why?"

I gave a small nod and turned my back on them, walking away my bare feet shuffling against the cold platform floor.

I was now halfway up the stairs that led to my room, my heart thudded in my chest, a sudden surge of fright coming across me. I hadn't slept beside Scaramouche in two years, the prospect of it made my stomach turn, just like it had the first night in the van. After all this time, how did she still make me this way? I clenched my hands, my palms already sweating and walked on, determined not to show her how she was making me feel.

Pulling the curtain across my door aside, I peered through the doorway and smiled. Scaramouche was sat cross legged on my mattress; my blankets wrapped around her and pulled up to her cheek like a giant comforter. She brushed the corner of them across her cheeks, her gaze firmly fixed on the crumbling wall ahead of her, her lips slightly parted in thought.

She didn't turn to face me but she had sensed I was there. "Meat knows I'm here." She told me blankly, "I don't think she was too happy to see me, she just ignored me and stomped away."

"I know." I walked into the room and sat behind her, my legs on either side of her body and my arms wrapping themselves around her thin waist underneath the blanket. "It'll be fine, she'll forget about it in a couple of weeks." I kissed her neck and brought my hand up to move her hair behind her ear.

"I was really nervous to come back up here." I told her, stroking my thumb across her cheek and kissing where I'd just touched. "I figured I'd just be overcome with butterflies and not be able to talk to you properly."

The apple of her cheek rose as she smiled. "I still give you butterflies?"

I laughed and pulled her closer towards me, resting my chin on her shoulder. I didn't want to answer her question. The truth was that the butterflies were no longer there; maybe it had been so long since being with her they'd all just flown away? Or maybe I was so comfortable with her in my arms; there was no need for nerves.

"Since you're here, I think we should talk about things Scaramouche…" I stroked my hand across her flat stomach. I felt it sink beneath my fingers as she sighed. "I know it's not the best time… but it's been two years, surely we've both grown up enough to put things behind us. We can't just stay angry at each other for the rest of our lives."

She shook her head, "I'm not angry at you Gaz'." I wasn't sure if I believed her, but her tone of voice was so light that she sounded almost convincing. She exhaled quickly through her mouth, blowing her long fringe up in the air and out of her vision for a brief moment.

I laid backwards, propping my hands behind my head and closing my eyes for a brief second, it felt so good to have her back, I was so comfortable it was as if she'd never even gone. I opened my eyes to find her watching me with curiosity.

"What are you smiling for?" she asked inquisitively.

"No reason," I told her, smiling again, "I'm just happy that you're here." I pushed at her side playfully with my foot, her lack of energy evident as she flopped down onto her right side with a giggle. It was a rare thing to get a sincere laugh from Scaramouche, but a wonderful thing when you heard it.

"So what do you want to do?" I asked her, pinching softly at her hip with my thumb and fingers. She pushed herself up from her side and crawled back into my lap, her bottom lip poking out in a pout and her eyes wide. She wrapped her thin arms around me and clung to me, her head resting on my chest. I wanted to hug her back, squeeze her tightly- but she was so fragile these days, a part of me was worried I'd break her. She shrugged in reply to my question and nestled her head into my collar bone, her nose cold against my bare skin.

"Would you like me to stroke your hair until you fall asleep?" I asked her, running a hand across the back of her head. She nodded and I obliged. It was just how it used to be. We'd lain in the same position the night before she'd left, my hand moving back and forth over her silky mass of magenta hair as she fell into a deep sleep, showing no signs that the next day she'd be gone without so much as a goodbye.

"Scaramouche?" I pushed her fringe back from her face and watched her forehead crease into a frown.

"Hmm?" she answered me softly as though she'd just awoken, though I knew she had been yet to fall asleep.

"Why did you leave?"

I kept my eyes shut and scrunched up my nose, giving an incoherent mumble in the hopes that he'd drop the subject. Just a few seconds ago I'd been comfortably lying with him in silence; actually considering whether maybe I should just come back, deal with the mundane and dull days being stuck underground. I gave a soft grumble and fidgeted. Even the prospect of it made my entire body give a groan of boredom.

"Scaramouche?" he shifted his legs from underneath me so that I had no choice but to sit up.

"Mm?" I sat up with a frown and pushed by hair backwards. It appeared he wasn't going to drop the subject. His face full of perplexity he stared down at me waiting for an answer. "I uhm-", I couldn't answer. I chewed my lip and gave an awkward shrug. He wasn't buying it.

"Scaramouche, if we're going to at least try and get past this, I need to know why you left. Then I won't make the same mistake again." His eyes searched me for an answer.

"I was just… bored…" I muttered, turning away from him so that I didn't have to see his reaction.

"Of me?" there was an element of pain in his response.

I had been bored of him, but that hadn't been all. I'd gotten bored of the entire Bohemian lifestyle. We constantly bragged that the way we lived was so much more interesting than the clones. That we were individuals and did what we wanted, but the truth was we were just as scheduled as they were. We did the same thing every single day at the same time. We were constantly searching for something that didn't want to be found and always facing the daily challenge of getting by without being arrested. I'd become bored of being a Bohemian and the fact that my boyfriend was the leader of them all only bored me even more.

I could have shouted it all at him, maybe then the message would have gotten through, but part of me just couldn't bear to fight. So instead of telling him the truth, I looked down at my feet and pulled at a thread poking out the leg of my sock.

"Not… of you… just…" I leant across and kissed him on the end of his nose. "Let's not talk about this today?" I offered him a lopsided smile. For a moment he looked like he wasn't going to take that as an answer so I added, "Galileo, I've had a lot to deal with today, don't make me think about this as well." I was ashamed with myself for pulling that card, my Dad's funeral as an excuse to cover the fact I was a wimp and couldn't just tell him the truth.

He nodded. "I'm sorry."

"I know." I wanted to kick myself. I'd managed to turn it so that he was apologising to me for my awful actions, I felt worse than ever. What sort of a person had I turned into?

I laid back down and enveloped my arms around my aching chest. That awful pain that had been lurking since I'd been called with the news wasn't going anywhere. It was strange, I'd always been told that when you lost someone, you felt empty- but that wasn't what I was feeling. The space underneath my ribs felt as though it were carrying all the weight in the world and might just combust any moment, perhaps my heart really had broken?

I looked up at Galileo, my eyes glistening with tears from the pain. "Why does it hurt so badly?" I asked him meekly.

"I'm sorry." He told me again, lying behind me and kissing the back of my neck. "I wish I could make it better." I knew he meant it. If he could he'd have done anything for me. Maybe that was another reason he'd bored me, he was so predictable.

I scrunched my eyes tightly together. Pressing my body backwards into his I desperately tried to block everything out and imagine myself back to the night in the van, but everything felt so wrong. As I linked my fingers with his, I felt how they no longer resembled the teenager's hand that I had once held so dotingly.

Turning around to face him I moved my head towards his and placed my hand flat on the top of his chest. He brushed his lips across mine, making me push forwards for a more passionate kiss. As our mouths parted I bit at his bottom lip as I always had done and felt him smile, but as we continued to kiss I realised something wasn't right. Had he always kissed this way? It didn't feel like it. Who had he been kissing over the two years to make his mouth feel so foreign to me? I pulled away, giving him one last brief peck and pressed my forehead against his.

"Goodnight, Galileo Figaro." I whispered, rolling over onto my back.

"I love you." He told me, before the tell-tale sounds of his breathing told me he'd fallen asleep. He had always been a heavy sleeper; it had driven me insane when we were together. Within minutes of his head hitting the pillow he was out for the count and there was no waking him once he was gone. It was no wonder he had so many dreams!

I gave it a little while, just to make sure he really was in a heavy sleep and then pushed the blankets back, tucking them underneath him. It was ironic, I was doing such an awful thing to him, but in the process I was still worried about him getting cold during the night! I kissed him tenderly on the forehead and watched his eyes flicker rapidly underneath his lids.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, pulling up my socks and buckling up my shoes. As I crept out of his room I heard him roll over, but a loud snore ensured me that he was still sound asleep.

Treading the same path that I had two years ago, my heart thudded in my already pained chest. I was an awful person. Though I knew that if I didn't leave tonight, I would have done it a few days, weeks or even months later. The sooner I did it, the better.

As I quickened my pace, I was glad that this time the Bohemians weren't around to catch me out. Meat had seen me leave last time, begged me not to go and even tried to physically stop me. At least this time they were all at the gig.

As I hit the surface, I gulped in the fresh night air. Instead of making me feel better it only fed my guilt more, making my stomach flip uncomfortably. A babble of voices made me turn my head. What awful timing. The Bohemians were returning home. I knew I couldn't stop now, putting my head downwards I walked on, feeling their eyes catch sight of me. None of them spoke, but their silence made me feel even more awkward. Just as I had passed them I heard Meat turn to one of the others.

"What did I tell you?" though she intended to sound smug in her remark, her voice shook with a disappointment that made me feel like a scolded child.

I turned around and shouted after them, "I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_!" but nobody replied, they simply turned and watched me as I walked on into the night.


	8. Drabble 5

Meat slumped down against an empty beer barrel and heaved an exhausted sigh. It had been another long night of work at the Seven Seas of Rhye bar and tonight had felt endless. Last orders had been called well over an hour ago, yet the last stumbling customer had only just left, his feet dragging behind him as he muttered and slurred about his annoyance at the closing time. "S'not nearly late 'nuff to stop-" he hiccupped loudly, "-drinking. Th'night's still young."

As far as Meat was concerned, three in the morning was a more than generous closing time, especially as it was now nearing half past four.  
Resting her head back against the barrel she emitted a wide yawn and let her heavy eyelids fall.

She awoke with a start as Pop shook her shoulder violently. "Oh!" he looked sheepish, "Didn' mean to give you a fright, love. Jus' you came down here fifteen minutes ago and never resurfaced… was starting to think you'd fallen into a barrel and gotten stuck." He gave a wheezy laugh and lowered himself to the floor, taking a seat adjacent and offering her a rolled cigarette and a lopsided smile.

She took it from him gratefully and returned the smile with a quick flash of teeth. "Cheers Pop," she leant forwards towards his ignited silver Zippo lighter and drew the cigarette towards her mouth to light it. Inhaling deeply she closed her eyes again, opening them slowly as she blew the smoke slowly from her slightly parted lips. "Christ, talk about a long night, ay'?" she rolled her eyes and crossed one outstretched leg over the other. "I thought we'd never finish!"

Pop nodded as he lit his own cigarette, the smoke falling from his lips as he spoke. "I told you to leave earlier didn't I? I'd have finished up on my own, you know I would. You're working yourself too hard these days kid; you'll run yourself into the ground if you're not careful."

Meat raised a pointed finger at him, "Firstly, I'm not a kid! I'm nearing thirty Pop."

"Oh ye'?" Pop chuckled, "You're a kid compared to me!"

Meat chuckled, "Yeah, but that's because you're an old git!" she snorted softly and continued, her hand falling dejectedly to her side, "Secondly- I need to work. It helps to take my mind off… well, you know." She lifted her hand to her mouth and began to gnaw at her once long nails. "Keeping busy is the only way I can keep going at all."

Pop tried to give her a sympathetic look, but it appeared awkwardly on his creased face so he directed his gaze to the patch of floor beneath him and rolled the end of his cigarette lightly across the concrete to knock the ash from it. "You need to be careful." He told her, "It might be easy to avoid thinkin' about it now, but it'll only make it worse to come to terms with when you do have time to yourself."

"I have come to terms with it!" Meat snapped, stabbing her own cigarette against the concrete floor to extinguish it. "I know he's dead Pop, I know he's not coming back! Just excuse me if it's not my most favorite topic of thought." she frowned deeply and brought her legs into her chest, wrapping her arms around them in a tight embrace.

"That's not what I meant…" Pop trailed off and flickered his glance up to her briefly to see a tear now rolling down her cheek. "I just think you need to give yourself time to adjust to him not being around, not just work every damn hour of the day and night in order to avoid thinking about it." He shook his head and removed a tobacco tin from his pocket. As he began to roll another cigarette he added, "It's not easy losing someone, especially under the circumstances that Brit' went."

Meat clamped her hands over her ears childishly and shut her eyes tightly. "Don't Pop! Just don't alrigh'?"

Pop shrugged and placed his half rolled cigarette into the hands of Meat. Fishing his hand into his left sock he produced a small clear bag. "Don't say I didn't offer you support." He fiddled around with the bag and only looked up when he felt Meat's eyes boring into the top of his head. "Oh," he grinned sheepishly, "I suppose you want some?"

Meat shook her head, "Not for me ta', I think I'm a bit old to be smoking pot, besides Brit' always said it killed your brain cells."

Pop stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he began to roll, deep in concentration as he turned the paper back and forth. When he had finally finished he twisted the end as he spoke, "Brit' only said that because he was high on life. He didn't need this stuff. We however-" he gestured between the two of them, "need a helping hand sometimes."

Meat looked uneasy, "I've not had that stuff since I was sixteen, I couldn't handle it then so I doubt I'd cope so well with it now." Her mind cast back to a memory of three giggling girls sat in a clearing in the woods near her old home. She'd never been a Gaga. Her family had always been described by the neighbors as 'hippies' because they'd insisted on dressing themselves and their children in clothes they'd fashioned themselves. Nor had she ever been to school, her parents had disagreed with the military fashion in which they were run, so chose to home tutor their children. She rolled her eyes as she remembered her friends holding back her matted hair while she vomited into a bush, all of them still in hysterical fits of laughter.

Pop shrugged, "We learn to handle all sorts of things as time goes on." He gave a hoarse chuckle, "I've seen you throw back a few Jack Daniels this evening, would you have been able to do that at sixteen?"

Meat smirked, "It was 'cause I was doing that at sixteen that I can hold my drink now!" she wrinkled her nose at the fumes of the joint, "Besides, just the smell of tha' stuff makes me feel giddy."

They sat in silence for a while, Meat watching Pop as his eyes slowly began to glaze and his body began to relax. She smiled across at him, "How do yeh do it Pop?"

He raised an eyebrow slowly and contorted his face, "Huh?"

"Cope so well with everything." She laughed lightly, "You've been through so much more than all of us-"

"That's because I've lived an awful lot longer than the rest of you." Pop interjected.

"But still, everything just seems to go over your head, you're so calm… I've never seen you get angry with any of us, even Scaramouche and she can be a pain in the ass at the best of times."

Pop offered a small smile, "That's because all of you encourage her, if you just laughed at her and left her to it, instead of shouting back at her and winding her up, you'd find her little outbursts weren't quite so long lived."

Meat replied with a low, "Hmm…" and then proceeded into silence again, her mind ticking over her time at the Heartbreak Hotel. She'd always been wary about newcomers. Brit' had welcomed them with open arms, insisting that the group was stronger in large numbers, whereas Meat took time to accept them, only really giving over to them because of Brit's friendliness towards them. She wondered what Brit' would have thought to Pop. They had met briefly before, Pop had told her, knew of each other and the work that they were both doing to enable the comeback of rock. But Brit' had never spoken of Pop to Meat and she had only met him herself at the Seven Seas of Rhye. She could never quite be sure whether her quick allegiance with him had been down to her brain dead state of mind, after all, it was difficult to fight against a friendship with someone once your mind had been blown, especially when they constantly plied you with beer in their efforts to keep you happy.

"Pop, why did you stick around with us all at the Seven Seas of Rhye?" Meat wondered aloud, "We were all just a bunch of pissed vegetables, it can't have been all that much fun for you looking after us, being the only sane person around."

Pop mused the question for a moment, drawing a long breath of the pot into his lungs. As he blew it out he wrinkled his forehead in thought. "I'd been sent there by Globalsoft, and unless I wanted to be killed outright I had to stay there… and of course I looked after you all, it was obvious what you were, disciples of rock music! I couldn't just leave you all in your own puddle of dribble, could I?"

Meat felt a smile cracking on the edges of her mouth. "I did not _dribble_!"

"If you say so lady," Pop grunted.


	9. Drabble 6

**A/N: Okay, my brain has officially been zapped; I think I've turned into a real Gaga the amount of useless Christmas TV that I've been watching. So hopefully you'll take that as a legit excuse as to a) why I haven't written in a very long time and b) why what I've managed to produce this evening isn't of any quality. Believe me, it was 2,000 words before I realised that I was literally just jotting down the most random, obscure and most un-connectable events possible and decided to edit it down to just this, you've gotten off lightly ^_^**

**Happy New Year!**

**Xx**

"Atchoo!" a loud sneeze erupted from one of the small rooms of the Heartbreak Hotel, followed by a low grumble of a man in ill health. "Scaramouche?" the pathetic cry was barely audible from a metre away, let alone from where Scaramouche was currently residing. "Scar-atchoo!" Galileo Figaro swiped his sleeve underneath his red nose and sniffed loudly.

"Gazunti," Cliff lifted the torn curtain that hung across the doorway and poked his head through to see where the noise had come from.

"E'scuse me?" Galileo blinked up at Cliff from the nest he'd made in the array of blankets on the mattress.

"Gaz-un-ti," Cliff sounded it out and retracted his head from the room slowly, wary that he might be the colds next target.

"Untie wha'd?" the blocked nose seemed to be having an effect on Galileo's speech.

Cliff shrugged, "Don' know Gaz," he smiled dreamily as if he'd forgotten the question. "S'just something you say, I s'pose."

Galileo took his pillow and held it tightly over his throbbing head, "Cliff?" his muffled voice oozed self pity. "Can you get Scaramouche for me please?" he finished his sentence with an almighty cough, the force of it making Cliff leap backwards.

"Ye'Sir!" Cliff gave a half hearted salute and tottered off in the direction of where he'd last seen the bad arsed babe; the kitchen.

Jovi sat on the chipped worktop, her head resting against the wonky cupboards that had been fixed to the wall behind her. Between her legs stood Meat, her arms folded across her chest and a determined look upon her face as the young girl behind her tugged at her hair. Jovi's hands worked quickly as she held a section of hair between her fingers, twisting it and backcombing it between her index finger and thumb and every so often working what seemed to be wax into it from a small pot that sat next to her.

Scaramouche stood with her spine arched as she leant backwards onto the worktop, her elbows propping her up so that she could survey the scene in front of her. She watched Jovi working with fascination, craning her neck every now and then to get a better view.

"It's silly now I think about it, but I never actually realised you had to make dreads." She shrugged, "I think I just thought that to get them you just stopped brushing your hair for a while."

Meat chuckled, "Nah hen, that's how yeh get yeh hair to look as mess like Jovi's."

Jovi scowled and gave a meaningful tug on the piece of hair that she was currently working on. "Screw you, you're not supposed to brush curls, they frizz."

Meat snorted, "Yeh not supposed ta' brush curls when they're dry Jovi. Yeh don't just give up brushing yeh hair in general, 'spect there's all sorts caught up in your mop."

Scaramouche pointed a finger towards a ribbon that Jovi had plaited into a section of hair to the right of Meat's ear. "You're a fine one to talk!"

Cliff sidled round the doorway and grinned widely at Scaramouche, holding onto the doorframe protectively.

"I know that expression." Scaramouche raised an eyebrow at him. "What do you want?"

Cliff swung round the door frame and into the kitchen, holding his hands up defensively. "I don't want anything. It's the Dreamer, think he's been snorting something, there's an awful noise coming from his room and he asked me to come and fetch you."

Scaramouche groaned. "Bloody men, they can't just be like the rest of us and suffer with a cold quietly can they?" She rolled her eyes into the back of her head and pushed herself up from the work surface. "Cheers Cliff." As she left the kitchen Cliff made to follow her, turning round at the last second to point out concernedly;

"Meat, you've got something stuck in your hair."


	10. Drabble 7

**A/N: Just some Brit/Meat fluff I wrote for Kate and an excuse for me to avoid doing my coursework. Not so much a '4am Drabble', more so a '6pm Drabble' XD All reads and reviews much appreciated!  
Peace x **

A matted haired girl sang under her breathe as she pulled apart some tobacco from her plastic pouch, even as she dropped it into the thin paper that rested between her knees she continued the tune, her voice cracking as the harmony went too low for her. She sniffed loudly and furrowed her brow rolling the paper between her fingers, bringing it up to her lips and poking her tongue out into a point. Her eyes glazed over as she stared across at the crumbling wall in front of her, her back pressed against two cold metal dustbins and her knees drawn into her chest. Every so often she would glance around them at the brick archway, as if she were waiting desperately for somebody to arrive.

Flicking her silver Zippo lighter open she ignited the end of the rolled cigarette and drew a long burn from it, exhaling in small bursts to produce small white smoke rings. A shuffle of footsteps made her jump up suddenly, the familiar and unpleasant smell of a Bohemian back from the scavenge.

A wide set man stood in the archway, a sly smile playing on the corner of his lips and what seemed to be motor oil smeared across his dark skin. In reality he was no taller than an average man, but his confident stance and large muscles gave the illusion of a figure of great height.

The girl blinked at him slowly, taking in his appearance before dashing her cigarette onto the floor and running into his strong arms, her face glowing with a mixture of relief and excitement.

"Yeh came back!" she exclaimed in a whisper as she pushing her face against his heavy chest, closing her eyes as she tried to preserve the feel of his skin against hers. Though beaded sweat ran rested across his abs, to the touch he was freezing cold. She wrapped her arms around him and clung tightly, as if afraid he'd leave again. "I thought yeh were gone for good this time." She told him, a little louder than her first words.

"You know me baby," the man laughed, placing a kiss on her creased forehead, his icy lips making her startle slightly, "I always come back."

She pulled away and beat a clenched fist against his shoulder, as always he didn't flinch, despite the girls surprising strength. "I was really worried this time though, yeh've never been away this long before- if yeh'd jus' let me come with yeh…" she made to continue into her usual gripe that she was never allowed with him on his hunt for the lost texts but trailed off, flinging herself at him once more and holding him tight, still in utter relief that he was back in one piece. He smiled down at her, his kind eyes meeting hers as she craned her neck up to place a tender kiss on his chapped lips. "I missed yeh Brit'." Her voice shook slightly, much to her annoyance.

Brit' pulled her closer to him, pressing his lips to hers once again and engrossing her in a more passionate kiss. "I missed you too." He told her, wiping at the tears that were now protruding from her mournful eyes with his calloused thumb. "But every time I come back, you're more beautiful than when I left, so it's not such a bad thing." She sniffled, a flicker of a smile flashing through her cheerless expression.

"All this excitement s'making me need another ciggie," she chortled, turning to pick up her tobacco pouch and lighter from its place between the dustbins. As she crouched down she heard Brit' heave a great sigh.

"That stuffs bad for you babe, you're too beautiful to smoke."

"Well if yeh didn' keep running off and leaving me on my own-" she fumbled with the roll-up, her fingers trembling still at the excitement of her lovers return, "-ah wouldn' have t' smoke, would I?"

Big Macca leant against the archway, his hand clasped at his neck and an expression of woe plastered across his worn face. "Who're you talking to Meat?" he pondered aloud, watching the Bohemian with concern.

Meat blinked across at him, a nauseating feeling creeping into the pit of her stomach. She swallowed hard, feeling her eyes sting as fresh hot tears threatened to fall.

"N-no-one." Her dry throat grated as she replied. "Jus' m'self."

Macca looked unconvinced, "Are you okay? Scaramouche just sent me to come and check on you…"

Her neck cricked as she gave an involuntary nod.

"We're all worried about you." Macca informed her, "Ever since well-" he paused apprehensively, "We're all here for you if you need to talk." The girls lack of response made him shift his weight awkwardly between his feet. After a few moments he turned to leave.

As his footsteps faded away, Meat sank down into her previous haunt and brought her knees back up to her chest hugging them tightly and pressing her eyes into her torn tights, the tears now uncontrollable as she mentally cursed her overactive mind.


	11. Drabble 8

Scaramouche ran a grubby finger around the plastic lid of an ice cream carton, lifting her hand to her mouth and popping her finger into it she savoured the sweet taste with a smile. She felt her legs goose pimple as she propped the frozen carton between her bare knees, leaving her hands free to hunt for the spoon that she knew was hidden somewhere between the mess of blankets on hers and Galileo's mattress. Placing the ice cream to one side she disappeared under a particularly moth bitten sheet.

Galileo pushed the sheet that hung across the doorway aside and stepped into the dusky room, greeted by the sight of his girlfriend's rear poked high up in the air as she burrowed into the mattress face down.

"Babe?"

Scaramouche emerged triumphant. Galileo couldn't help but grin as she sat up, a spoon clasped proudly in her right hand like some kind of trophy, her pale unmade face beaming with sheer joy. She looked particularly young today, she always did without makeup but her long hair hung loose, falling into her eyes, a long unkempt layer. She wore one of his black t-shirts baring a 'Sex Pistols' motif and as Galileo approached her he realised that it wasn't the only item of his clothing that she sported this evening.

"Scaramouche, are they my boxer shorts?"

Scaramouche didn't reply, simply clutched the ice cream under one arm and scooped a large amount into her mouth with a sly smile. Galileo lowered himself onto the mattress and pulled her between his legs, his eyes firmly transfixed on the melting ice cream.

"So are you planning on sharing that?" he asked hopefully, tracing a finger down her right arm and making a grab for the spoon. Scaramouche however was wise to him and pulled it out of his reach with a cackle.

"Gazza, you're asking the biggest thing of a girl possible. Sharing ice cream is as big a deal as…" she thought for a moment, "Losing your virginity!"

"You mean you only share it with the person you really love?" Galileo asked hopefully, trying to reach a finger into the carton.

"No…" Scaramouche blinked up at him, "I mean you give it away and immediately regret not keeping it to yourself for a little bit longer!"

Galileo laughed loudly, wrapping his arms tightly around his girlfriend's chest and pulling her backwards. "I'll just have to fight you for it then!" he insisting, surprised as always by her strength as he attempted to pin her down.

"That's ice cream rape!" Scaramouche cried through shrieks of laughter.

Galileo snatched up the carton and made to stand up, holding it high above Scaramouche's head. "Bet you wish you were Long Tall Sally now, don't you." He teased, dipping his free hand into the ice cream and licking it from his fingers.

"Stop violating my ice cream!" Scaramouche howled, leaping to her feet and jumping up at her boyfriend, her stomach aching as she tried to hold back her laughter. Latching herself onto him she climbed his torso, her thin arms wrapping around his neck like a monkey.

He grinned down at her, kissing at her neck fiercely, still keeping the ice cream out of her reach.

"I don't want kisses I want ice cream!" Scaramouche wailed, kissing him back on the lips and reaching her hand up towards his raised one. Her fingers brushed the edge of the carton, it was almost hers.

"Shit." Galileo turned around to see an upturned carton on the floor; Scaramouche peered over his shoulder and snorted. "Now nobody gets ice cream." He laughed, lowering her down on the mattress and picking up the tub. The ice cream had well and truly ended up everywhere.

Scaramouche bit her lip in thought, her eyes fixed on the floor. "Would it be totally disgusting if we…"

"Ate it off the floor?" Galileo finished her sentence for her with a snort.

"Well, we're Bohemians aren't we?"

"I won't tell anyone if you don't!"


	12. Drabble 9

**A/N: I decided yesterday that I wanted to look into some of the lesser examined canon Bohemians. For the record, I personally hate this. (:  
Nothing belongs to me.  
Love x**

Bob scratched at his dreadlocked hair with his short bitten fingernails and slumped down in his seat, his elbows propped on the table in front of him and his head resting in his calloused palms. The pint glass in front of him was empty, all but for half an inch of white foam, the remains of the lager that he'd drank almost half an hour ago.

From where he sat, he could see the entire bar, not that there was an awful lot worth watching today. Prince sat on his own building a consistently failing playing card tower, grunting every time it fell to the floor but persisting in picking up the cards and beginning again.

Charlotte and Madonna were together at the bar, Charlotte perched on the wooden countertop and Madonna stood between her open legs, both exchanging giggles and flirtatious smiles. Bob narrowed his eyes as he watched them. A pang of anger flitting across him as Madonna leant in towards Charlotte and placed a loving kiss on her pouted lips.

Bob gave a low growl and stood up, breaking the silence and making the two girls jump. Charlotte met his gaze, her face contorting into confusion as she noticed his deep set scowl. "What's up Bob?" she smiled across at him and hopped down from the bar, "Want me to get you another drink?"

"Nothing," Bob grumbled, sliding his empty glass onto the bar, "And yes, that's your job, _isn't it?_" he sneered at her.

Charlotte made to correct him but Madonna put her hand up to stop her. "Go and sit back down Bob, I'll bring it over to you."

Bob trudged back from his seat, flipping the lid on his packet of cigarettes and thrusting one into his mouth, igniting it with a frown and drawing back hard on it. He looked up with a creased brow as Madonna approached him, slopping his lager as she pushed it onto the table and taking a seat without invitation.

"That'll kill you." She pointed out, wrinkling her nose at the tobacco fumes.

"Holy crap! Why did nobody tell me this before? Thanks to you I can finally see the error of my ways." Bob drawled back at her in a monotone voice. "Funny enough though, I'm still going to take the risk." He drew a particularly long intake of the cigarette and gave a satisfied smirk as he exhaled it.

"I know what this is about." Madonna informed him. "And you're wasting your energy."

"By smoking?" Bob raised an uncaring eyebrow.

"No, by fawning over Charlotte."

"I _do not_ fawn over Charlotte." Bob shifted his weight awkwardly. "In fact I'm pretty sure I just told her off for not doing her job properly."

"That isn't her job you arse and you know it!" Madonna scowled, "And besides, you're overcompensating. I'm not stupid Bob, I've been around here long enough to see when someone is doting on someone else."

Charlotte titled her head to the side as she watched the two from behind the bar.

"Smile." Madonna muttered through gritted teeth.

"What?"

"Smile so that Charlotte doesn't know what we're talking about." They both cracked into an impossibly wide fake smile, Madonna adding in a small laugh for effect. "Now stop being an idiot and realise you're wasting your time with her."

"Why, because she's _yours_?" Bob chided at her, slurping from his dirty glass. "Jealous that I might actually have a chance with her?" he wiped his arm across his top lip, removing the residue that the head of the beer had left behind.

Madonna stared blankly at Bob for a few moments, suppressing a giggle. "You really don't know anything about her do you?"

Bob held his tongue, his eyes protruding slightly from their sockets at the very thought of it. It was Madonna who knew nothing about Charlotte, not him. He'd watched her for months. He knew just from the way she smiled what was on her mind, he always knew just because she dragged her feet that little bit more than usual that she was feeling low. He could recite from memory that first thing in the morning she drank coffee, during the day she liked to indulge on rum and coke, in the evening she glugged rosé wine and just before bed she'd have a sweet cup of tea. All she had to do was tie her hair back and he knew that she was frustrated, or sing her favourite song under her breath and he could tell that she was content.

"_You_ don't know shit." Bob spat, igniting another cigarette and forcing a wide smile across at his lust's girlfriend.

"I know that she likes girls, Bob." Madonna pointed out smugly, "You might have long hair but she wouldn't look at you twice in that way, regardless of whether I were on the scene or not."

Bob opened his mouth to speak but found himself with nothing to say. He closed it firmly and pressed his lips tightly together. Madonna watched carefully.

"You know I'm right." Her voice softened, "Don't put yourself through it, Bob. It's not worth it." She gave him a sympathetic smile and stood up, bidding farewell to Charlotte who was now sat with Prince, watching him in amazement as once again he built up his pyramid.

Bob stumbled over to them and stared down at the wobbling tower.

"Bob! You could help us." Charlotte exclaimed smiling up at him. "You know all sorts about this kind of thing."

Bob glared down at her, "Haven't you got glasses to be cleaning?" he watched Charlotte's face fall into bemusement.

"Is everything okay?" Charlotte asked him carefully.

"Just…" Bob thrust his hand through the cards and felt a satisfaction as they fell to the floor. "Fuck off Charlotte." He stormed from the bar, his stomach lurching with guilt as he left the crestfallen girl looking to Prince for answers.


	13. Drabble 10

**A/N: Inspiration came from the film Tank Girl XD That's about it really.  
Happy Easter y'all.**

**x**

A slow scraping noise, the sort that only came from years of rust and neglect made the corners of Meatloaf's mouth upturn into a satisfied smirk as she closed together the blades on a large and heavy pair of steel scissors. With her knees drawn up to her chest on the cold bathroom tiles she slammed the wooden draws that stood adjacent to her shut, wincing as they gave a warning creak.

She'd been sent in search of the scissors by Brit, he'd seen the Bohemian slice many a pair of jeans and even the occasional piece of leather with these trusty blades and now he needed something reliable to carefully chop a piece of wire he'd found, ready to string it onto his newest musical creation.

The sound of footsteps made Meat freeze, but as she heard the creak of the bathroom door, the glint in her eye suggested that she'd had a devilish idea. The unspoken silence of the heavy footed figure told her that her boyfriend Brit', now stood behind her. She licked her lips, refusing to turn around for one moment.

"Before I give you these," she held the scissors high and gave a quick sharp chop with them in midair, "I think we need to test that they're still in working order." Stretching a leg upwards she brought the scissors down, stroking them slowly across her taught calf and opening them carefully to chop at her already snagged fishnet tights until the remains of them littered the floor.

As the breathing behind her quickened gave a satisfied smirk, sliding the blades onto one of the straps from her top, the scissors giving a crunch as they snapped through it with minimum effort. As her top began to slide down her waist she stopped, biting down on her bottom lip in thought. "If you want more, you'll have to help me."

As she began to feel the cold steel move from her hands and turned to face her boyfriend, a sultry expression seeping across her young face. "And don't take too long about it, I can't wait to…"

Her heart leapt into her mouth as she gaped up at the figure towering over her, a hungry look etched into the old wrinkled skin of no-one else but Pop. He leered down at her, his chest wheezing as he gave a dry laugh.

"Ugh!" Meat exclaimed, her cheeks glowing magenta as she clasped a hand across her chest and shot backwards to gain some distance from him. "I thought yeh were Brit'!"

"And here was me, thinking I'd pulled." Pop chuckled, still staring down at the half clothed Bohemian.

"Not on yeh life!" she snatched the scissors back from him with a huff. "Now get out of here!" she waved the sharp instrument at him warningly, "before I start surgically removing organs!"


	14. Drabble 11

**A/N: Characters are property of Ben Elton, story inspired by an unnamed song by Hunter, Jeff, Heidi and Susan from [TOS] from their recent trip on an Alaskan cruise ship and fic' ruined all by myself! XD**

"_Am I alone?"_

The bright questioning eyes of an eleven year old boy stare across at the freshly erased scribbles on his bedroom wall, the damp magnolia paint barely masking where his black marker has traced his itching desire, _"Is there anybody out there?"_ he fidgets nervously, a discomfort at his own mind's insistence on projecting all of life's questions into outbursts like this.

A ten year old girl pads the ground with quick and inelegant steps, her own feet spinning her into a dizzy whirl- her arms spread wide as she watches the world spin past her in an almost sickening haze. Yet this is the most comfortable she has felt in weeks, her body and her thoughts finally at the same spiralling speed, _"Does anyone else feel like they have so many thoughts in their head, if they don't do something about it they'll explode?"_ her eyes adjust as she stops suddenly, focusing on the all too familiar empty lawn as she feels her last thought swings giddily between her temples.

"_Anyone?"_

Even his parents have started to stare at him in wordless wonder; he can feel them watching him cautiously as they stand in his doorway, a nearing empty paint pot in one hand and a dripping emulsion clogged brush in another. They've stopped scalding him for these _incidents_, their concern no longer the presentation of their house, but the sanity of their son. _"Does anyone else feel… mad?"_ his eyes dart quickly around his small bedroom, _"…or weird?"_ his parents exchange shrugs and turn to leave. _"…or different?"_

Just one friend. That's all that she wants. Just one person with a wordless understanding of how she feels, someone who shares her quirks and humours her faults. "Anybody?" she calls aloud, "Anyone?" a lopsided rag doll sits mute, its one buttoned eye staring up at her. "Is anyone listening to me?!" she stresses, her arms flapping at her side in distress as she stamps a small foot.

He flops down on to his unmade bed, his brow furrowed in wonder. Is this world completely oblivious to him? Or out there somewhere is there someone wondering the same thing as he is? "Is anybody watching?" he calls out to nobody in particular. "Am I the only one like this?"

"_**Am I alone out here…?"**_

"… _in my bedroom?"_

"…_in my garden?"_


End file.
